Armour
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: Even surrounded by her people in the Glittering Caves, Éowyn felt alone. Alone because once again, her gender had dictated her role, a role that no-one else seemed to object to. No-one bar a strange woman from a foreign land. A foreign world. A woman with a sharp tongue, and plenty of wine...


**Armour**

Éowyn couldn't believe her eyes.

Considering everything she'd seen over the past week, those sights ranging from her dead cousin to an elf and a dwarf among Men (or one man in particular at least), that she couldn't believe her eyes was a source of disbelief in itself. But as more yells came from the Deeping Wall, as more children cried and woman wailed, she was drawn back to reality. A grim reality. A reality that involved her warding over her people in the Glittering Caves, and the source of her disbelief, that some of them were drinking wine.

"Ah, Lady Éowyn. Come join us."

And that these people had the gall to summon her. To name her. To address her by titles that she supposed meant little right now, but might return to importance if she lasted the night.

So she walked forward. Up to the ringleader, dressed in clothing that would have been better suited for Meduseld. Drinking from golden cups that she'd only seen in the hands of Gondorian traders. Drinking from wine stored in barrels that all had names such as the Arbor, Dorne, and King's Landing.

"What is this?" she asked the ringleader.

"A celebration!" the woman decreed, clearly drunk. "Our last life on this earth!"

"It's not…I…what?!"

"Ah, fear not little dove, the wine will loosen your tongue. And potentially your breaches as well."

Éowyn just stared.

She wasn't sure where this woman came from, or even if she was of Rohan. True, she had long golden hair, but her accent was…it was hard to say, she spoke Westron, but it was as if she understood the words, but not the meaning behind them. And her attire was something else – rings of gold and silver, many of which bore the sign of a lion. A cloak of silk that she could only dream of wearing in the height of summer, when icy winds didn't blow over Edoras and the plains around the city. And…there was something else about the woman, Éowyn noticed. Something different from every other woman and child her uncle had sent into shelter. There was a degree of fear, the wine couldn't hide it all. But also…frustration. The type of frustration that she'd felt as long as she could remember. Frustration that she'd hid over the years, and only let out in quick bursts.

"So then," the woman said. "Wine?"

Éowyn took it. With her right hand she took the cup, and with her left patted the hilt of her sword, reassuring herself that one cup wouldn't dull her abilities if she was required to defend her people. And with a nod of respect to the woman, she took a sip.

And coughed it all up.

"Dornish ale never fails," the woman declared as all the other younger ones giggled around her. "I…hic…that rhymes."

Éowyn glared at her.

"Have I offended you, little dove?"

"Don't call me little."

"You're twenty-four, you long to live life how you want, and you've never been fucked." The woman took another sip. "I…oh come on, drink!"

"This wine will be needed for when the men return," Éowyn said.

"Ah yes," the woman sighed, swirling her cup around and ignoring her company. "They bleed out there while this one," she said, gesturing to a young girl, likely in her early teens, "bleeds in here."

Éowyn glanced at her. "You're wounded?"

"No, milady," the girl whispered, lowering her gaze. "My flower, it's…it's…"

"She's becoming a lady," the golden-haired woman declared. "That time of life when we bleed inside, so that men who bleed on the outside can see that we're ready for inside and outside to meet."

"I…" Éowyn trailed off, briefly recalling that period of life where her own…flowering had begun. When Éomer and Théodred had found yet another arrow to tease her with, when her uncle had shocked her with the inner workings of a woman, and when Wormtongue had started looking at her differently. She shuddered at the thought.

"But no, here we are," the woman declared, leaning back against a rock as if it were a throne, finishing her cup, and holding it out for a refill. "Out here, waiting for the slaughter to reach us."

Éowyn grabbed her sword again. "I'm sure if it comes to that we-"

"Oh don't get any ideas little dove, I know a lost siege when I see one." The woman drained a significant portion of her refill and let out a hiccup. "There'll be no grand arrival of cavalry to save the day here. Our enemy's carrying the fire, not us. And since the enemy are uruk-hai or whatever they're called, our greatest weapon isn't going to help us."

"Greatest weapon?"

The woman finished her cup. "My dear, I can…hic…tell you…hic…you think different…hic. But a woman's greatest weapon…hic…is the one between her…hic…legs."

Éowyn just stood there.

"Oh yes," the woman said. "In the old days, before I had to come into this world, before winter…hic..came…I could always count on men knowing what they wanted – gold, grog, and women to enjoy it with. But if these brutes enjoy any of those pleasures…well, best we not find out, eh?"

Éowyn sighed. She reached down to take the woman's cup and-

"Drink!"

And took it before the flagon could reach its gold again. The woman glared at her.

"You dare take this from me you dirty-"

Éowyn grabbed her wrist as she tried to slap her. And before she could react, slap her back.

"You're drunk," she said. "I'm-"

"Unhand me! I am Cersei Lannister, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, regent of the Andals and the First Men, wife to lord and protector of the realm!"

"And not only are you're drunk, but you're mad. Come on."

Éowyn guided Cersei to a secluded corner, glaring at her companions and, she hoped, making it clear that she wasn't afraid to handle them in the same way. Ignoring the 'queen's feeble protests and murmurs of Jeoffrey, Jaime, and something about an imp-dwarf, she laid her down against a stalagmite.

"Iron Throne…Margery, the little bitch…King's Landing…"

"Look on the bright side," Éowyn murmured. "If the uruk-hai burst in, you'll be too drunk to feel them tearing you limb from limb."

"Women…flowering…between legs…"

Éowyn sighed, and sat down beside her.

"Swords…Stannis…"

It wouldn't be too hard, she reflected. To exit the caves, snag a helmet, and fight the fight she knew she had the skills to, not just sit here and lord over frightened hens.

"Queen…"

But she had her duties. She owed it to her uncle. Her people. Her land.

Though as the cries of battle echoed down into the caves, that didn't stop her from trying some more of the wine.


End file.
